Thoughts of a Medic
by CrimsonStainedAsh
Summary: A look at Gene's thoughts, troubles and opinions about the events taking place during the time that Easy spent in the Bois Jacque woods.
1. Disclaimer and Inspiration

**Thoughts of a Medic**

Synopsis: A look at Gene's thoughts and opinions about the events taking place during the time that Easy spent in the Bois Jacque woods.

**Disclaimer: **

** I do not own Band of Brothers, Easy Company or basically anything else within this story aside from the words and the computer space that it is taking up on my laptop. And I mean no disrespect to the people that are the real heroes behind the truly epic mini-series. This is created by a distracting imagination and based on the portrayals of the actors within the show as I see them to be. All inaccuracies are my fault.**

Quote of Inspiration/Reason for Writing This:

_ "Eugene Roe was a quiet fellow, a good fellow, very precise – when you needed it, and you called for a medic, it would be Gene Roe. I don't know how he got around up in Bastogne. His only weapon was a hypodermic needle, and he had to exist the same way we did, he was in the woods and he was in a fox-hole just as we were, he was as cold as we were, but he was on call the whole time. But that's how a medic proves himself – by being available. If he didn't come it would have been because he had been shot. But Roe survived. He came up wherever you were and took care of you, whether it was real bad or just bad, whether it was cold or snowing, he was there when you needed him. If anyone deserves a medal for outstanding work, it was Gene Roe; there is no question about it." – Jack Foley_

CrimsonStainedAsh


	2. Prelude or Introductory Chapter

**Thoughts of a Medic**

Introduction

Technician Fifth Grade Medic Eugene Roe who was otherwise known as simply "Roe", "Gene" or "Doc" bent back his head so that the center point on the top of his rounded military-issued helmet was touching the rim of his fox-hole and so that his faraway gaze was distantly focused on the snow-covered tree branches above and the cloudy sky beyond them.

Small flakes of snow were drifting down from the sky, landing on his upturned face.

His legs were bent and leaning against the right wall of his fox-hole. His bloodstained medic bag was half folded against his left side. Everybody was low on supplies. But the most prominent things that were steadily and noticeably decreasing in quantity were that of unwounded men and hope of moving on and away from the woods.

Like the gloomy, unclear sky Gene could only guess at what was to come. The only clear sure-fire things were the screamed beckoning calls of "Medic" due to the damned random gunfire that was all guesswork on both sides, the mortar shelling and ensuing deadly tree bursts, and then the most predicable and dreaded certainties of blood-soaked snow and swooping Death.

Gene shivered and pulled his grey wool blanket up to his neck. The thin material did little to warm his already chilled body. The thing about the cold was that once it grabbed hold of you it was next to impossible to shake loose of it. Again he shivered. He doubted that he would be able to become accustom to the white flakes and biting wind but then again he did not think that he could get used to the sight of his friends and comrades being wounded and killed. Over time it was easier as he built up a resistance and strayed a little bit further from the small groups within the company, keeping more and more to himself. However, neither did he think that the stench of the crimson blood that seemed to be never ending would ever be anything but revolting. Now it had become the only thing that seemed to urge him to move faster aside from the pain stricken cries and flashing gunfire.

Unable to fend off exhaustion any longer, sleep pulled Gene away from the cold living nightmare into his memories of home and better times.

The sound of crunching snow and running footsteps jolted Gene out of his light sleep. He huffed out a startled breath that turned to steam immediately due to the freezing temperature. It was still dark out but the distant horizon was starting to lighten, unlike the still cloudy sky that would once again have the much needed supply drop delayed. Gene looked up just in time to see First Sargent Carwood Lipton jog past half way crouched over. "Doc," Lipton nodded in passing before disappearing into the frontline fox-hole that housed machine gunner Walter "Smokey" Gordon.

Gene relaxed, the event was common. Lipton was always going from one location to another to help keep up the spirits of the other soldiers or just checking to make sure that everyone was okay. The medic thought him to be a truly good man who went beyond his duties to do what their commanding officer Norman Dike would not do. Foxhole Norman Dike, as Gene had heard some of the other soldiers call him, was never around and next to impossible to find unless he was running off for the Company CP after happening to be back in his fox-hole during an attack. The only good thing about the situation with Dike was that he had a full aid kit that Gene had managed to wrangle from him after a little persuasion.

The rare level of relaxation within Gene dissipated as more footfalls sounded, coming from the same direction that Lipton had just come from. It was one person from the sounds of it. Gene started forward, his hand automatically going to grab at his medic bag as booted feet slid down the edge of his fox-hole and Ralph Spina landed beside him with a brash grin on his slightly rounded face. "Anxious, Doc?" he asked, spinning his medic bag around so that it was on his lap instead of sitting on it and what little supplies laid inside it.

Gene sat up to give Spina more room before rolling his dark eyes.

"What?" Spina asked when he did not get a verbal response from his fellow medic and friend.

"What do you want?" Gene asked before running his thumb over his dry, cracked lips. It had been a long while since his last easy night of sleep without the constant worry of jerking awake and having to run off to face someone wounded or worse. He was tiring of it all.

Spina scoffed, shaking his head. "Wake up on the wrong side of the fox-hole or something?" Gene's tired, borderline annoyed glare unnerved Spina. "Alright, alright, I just came to give you this." Spina dug into his bag for a second before pulling out a small Syrette of morphine and handing it to Gene. "I got it from one of the guys of Dog Company," he explained, "It's not much but it's something at least."

Gene's expression lightened instantly and regret was visibly shining in his dark eyes – his minor annoyance with Spina and his kind-hearted teasing dispelled. "Thank you," he muttered. His low Louisianan drawl was almost non-comprehensible.

"No worries." With what he had wanted to do completed Ralph Spina crawled out of the fox-hole and took off back the way he had come from.

Rotating the Syrette between his fingers, Gene looked at it with admiration that such a small thing of liquid, metal and plastic could be so vital. It could ease the pain of those in agony but in the same turn there was the occasional man who could die from it due to an ill-fated allergy to the numbing medicine. Morphine was hard to come by without the supply drops and lack of supplies overall and subsequently those soldiers with less sever wounds would amaze even Gene as they wave away the painkilling medicine, not even letting him take it out of his pocket. They would fight against the pain with hardened expressions. While he would look on with sympathy and pity that he could not do more than he was able to do for them.

Licking his dry lips slowly, he tucked the tiny numbing agent into his jacket pocket with the only other Syrette that he had left and pulled his blanket up to his neck once more. Along with a great need of Syrettes he also had to find a pair of scissors, sharp scissors. He had tried to ask around but as of yet he had been unsuccessful. In the morning when everyone was awake he planned on asking Gordon if he had one. However until then all he could do was sit and drown in his thoughts.

**I have somewhat of an idea where this is going. Possibly a series of one-shots of ideas expanded from this beginning chapter into short tales of their own. It came to me during English class and continued to come somewhat during fourth period Philosophy. Any ideas however as to how to proceed are greatly appreciated as would be reviews. FYI: First timer here…Please be somewhat gentle. Criticisms are good though; anything to improve. **

CrimsonStainedAsh


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Failed Search Number One

"_It was the universal opinion of the frontline infantry that the medics were the bravest of all."_

Gordon was making coffee in a spare helmet over a small burner when Gene went to talk to him about acquiring a pair of scissors in the later hours of the dark morning. It had taken him that long to finally get around to the machine gunner because he had tried to find someone from another Company but lost his way and then discovered a wandering civilian when going to ask Captain Richard Winters about any extra supplies. He had managed to get a bandage from the civilian and an aid kit from Winters. And then was chewed out by Dike about being in the same fox-hole as Spina while the commanding officer was looking for his own hole having not been the one to dig it and had wandered too far forward.

"Have you seen them?" Gene asked as he came up beside the gunner and crouched down next to him. Gordon was looking out towards the distant German line across a stretch of clearing in the woods. Trying to keep his hands warm, Gene kept his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. It would do no good for him to have his hands numb if the unfortunate and inevitable call of "medic" came and he could not work his hands properly because he had no feeling in them due to the cold.

"No, but they're out there. Depend on it." Picking up the metal spoon that was sitting in his cup Gordon stirred the brew and asked, "Cup of Joe, Doc?"

"Gordon, I need scissors. You got scissors? Sharp scissors?" he asked instead of answering.

Double-checking that he heard Gene correctly Gordon asked, "Scissors?"

Gene nodded curtly.

"Well, let's see." Gordon mused. "I'll have to check the sowing room, might be upstairs in the study in that skinny little drawer in the middle of the desk." Gordon chuckled as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, alright…alright," Gene muttered, "Well what about an extra Syrette in your aid kit?"

Midway through Gordon's response of "Hide your morphine guys," a tree exploded as a mortar sliced through it and both men hit the ground, spilling the coffee. Almost immediately there was a cry of "medic" that sent Gene in motion. After Gordon made it into his fox-hole, Gene was scrambling away. His mind was slower than his legs, but regardless he was moving towards the beckoning shouts. From Gordon's fox-hole he scrambled and stumbled into Warren "Skip" Muck's and Donald Malarkey's fox-hole as another mortar landed and shook the earth beneath his feet.

"You guys okay?" Gene asked as he scrambled to get his helmet back on and get out of the soldiers ways.

"Would you look at this shit?" Skip said in outrage, "They peppered my helmet."

Again the call of "Medic" was heard and Gene, recognizing it to be Alex Penkala, yelled to Skip and Malarkey over the sounds of the mortars, "Where's Penkala?"

"Christ knows," Malarkey screamed. Gene jumped out of the fox-hole, keeping a hand on his helmet to prevent him from losing it again.

"Hey. Doc, Doc!" Skip's cry made Gene stop and look back. "Morphine, here take it." Skip said before pulling out a Syrette from his pocket and tossing it to Gene.

Gene turned and took off, crouched to the ground. He stopped only a few feet away with his hands on a tree to support him and keep him from falling as a mortar hit the ground just a few feet ahead and to his right. As the debris fell from above he took off. But was forced to stop and lie almost on his stomach beside an overturned fir tree. A soldier ran past in front of him, weapon in hand. Running forward once more, Gene used a tree to steer him in the right direction only to stumble and roll into a replacement by the name of Julian and Edward "Babe" Heffrons' fox-hole. "You guys hit?" he asked in mid-roll.

Helmet falling from his head for the second time, Babe handed it back to Gene as Julian turned to look at Heffron and Gene. "What are you looking at him for?" Heffron asked and pointed out toward the German line, "Watch the Goddamn line."

"You got a Syrette?" asked Gene. Another mortar sounded and instinctively his hands went up to cover his head. The cry of "Medic" was louder this time, and much closer. Not waiting for Heffron to reply, Gene rolled up to his feet and out of the hole. He barely heard Heffron over the cry and shrieking mortars as the soldier patted his side and said "Go".

The next mortar hit that landed barely a stone's throw to his left forced Gene to duck and roll. Crawling on his hands and knees for a pace before getting back up to his feet, Gene finally found Penkala and Lieutenant Buck Compton. Seeing Penkala's bloodied arm as the man held a tight grasp of it with his uninjured right hand, Gene tried to see the wound. But Penkala was gripping his own arm too tightly.

"It's the artery." Penkala cried, "I can feel it."

"Penkala let go." Gene commanded.

"It's the Goddamn artery!"

"Penkala, loosen your fingers, Goddamn it! Loosen them now."

"I'm going to bleed to death!"

"Loosen your fingers, Penk," Buck added with force in his tone.

Finally letting go, Penkala's hand fell away from his arm. Grabbing him by the wrist and elbow Gene inspected the wound quickly and immediately came to a conclusion: "It's not the artery"

"I ain't going back."

Gene looked up at Penkala and asked, "What?" having missed the words amongst the shattering sounds of the exploding shells.

"I ain't going nowhere. Not in this shit."

Gene took out a bandage from his bag and began to tie it around the inside of Penkala's wrist before saying, "You don't want to go out in this shit and you're yelling 'medic'?"

"I don't need to go back to no aid station."

"Well you're in luck Penkala." Gene paused as he finished tying the bandage and a mortar exploded behind him. "We ain't got no aid station." Falling back a bit from the slowly calming soldier, Gene huffed out a breath. The shelling had stopped. The occasional shout of confirmation of being okay from the others could be heard.

"Penkala, I need scissors. You got scissors?" Gene asked out of breath.

Penkala lolled his head to the side. "What the hell I need scissors for?"

"Well you got your aid kit?"

Penkala dug into his jacket pocket all the while keeping his bandaged wrist as still as possible. Pulling out the tin case, he handed it to Gene.

"Well, right you don't need this, not yet. I do." His job done, Gene got up and walked away, his form blending into the settling debris and looming fog. Glad that he did not have to deal with Death or anything too serious, Gene sighed with relief as he slipped down into his fox-hole where Spina was waiting.

"Who got hit?" inquired Spina.

"Penkala," Gene answered as he tweaked his helmet that had shifted on his head. Spinning his medic bag around to his lap he withdrew the aid kit that he had got from Penkala and handed it to Spina. "Alright here, this is what I want you to do." He said. "I want you to take someone and work your way over to the third battalion. Alright, you know what we need. Bandages, plasma, whatever you can beg you beg. Alright? And get me some Goddamn scissors, I can't get any." With a second thought he added, "And get yourself a hot meal too, eh." Spina tucked away the aid kit into his own bag. "Go."

After Spina left Gene adjusted his sitting position so that he was lower into the hole before taking off his helmet with cold, bloodstained hands. Running a hand through his raven hair, he exhaled and slouched down further into his hole. The day had been one of his easier ones. It was all theatrics: explosions, yells and minor injuries.

For a moment he felt like he would collapse due to a heart attack because his heart was beating so fast.

As it and he in total calmed, he silently thanked God.


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter Two – Dreaming of the Living Nightmare

_ "War is eternity jammed into frantic minutes that will fill a lifetime with dreams and nightmares." - John Cory_

As nimble as the creature from which his surname was spawned from, Eugene Roe darted through the woods. His aim: the unfortunate soldier that was screaming his calling of MEDIC, DOC or ROE as the cry alternated with every passing second that he did not pop up beside the wounded man. Briefly he wondered why they would call him specifically and not Spina or one of the other medics. But he would already be on the move upon the first landings of the mortars and it would be too late to cease his actions in mid sequence. He was too far gone to be turning back.

Every tree he passed looked no different from the last. Every cowering soldier that lay huddled in his fox-hole – either alone or with another cowering man – looked the same. Faceless, scared and hoping not to be the next one hit.

It was a white and brown, khaki and green haze. But soon crimson red entered the picture. As did loud, agonizing screams.

It was his field of play amongst the flying bullets and wooden projectiles that were the results of exploding mortars hitting the trees. Shouted commands, muted by the sounds of chaotic war, were heard by him but ignored. It was not his place to listen to them. His place was at the side of the wounded man. It was his place to do his duty as a field medic in the middle of the frozen hell that was their place on the unstable Allied line of offense, and alternating defense.

Having his hands stained with their lifeblood.

His ears ringing from their cries.

His heart slowly fracturing with each death.

Gene jolted awake, the wounded, faceless man gone from sight but not from his thoughts, as someone slid down next to him in his fox-hole. Heart pounding, he only saw a shadow of a man beside him in the darkness of the night.

Short Chapter…I know.

Any votes as to who it is that is visiting Gene? Reviews are always appreciated.


	5. Chapter 3

**This is what burning the Midnight Candle gets me. Thanks for reading/tempting a glance.**

Chapter Three

"Had I been any other man here, you would be rolling on the ground in pain." Gene blurted without thought beforehand. Quickly he added, "Sorry, Sir" as his manners kicked in and his taciturn nature took over and he fell silent.

"Well, Eugene," Sergeant Lipton said with a slight chuckle and amused grin, "Had you been another man we'd be in a pile of trouble." He paused, settling down beside the stunned and confused medic. "I heard you did a good job calming down and tending to Penkala when he was hit."

With the compliment Gene looked down at his shaking hands. The cursed crimson stained them, revealing all the creases of his hands.

"Eugene?"

He could barely remember what pallid tone they had once been. The dry, crackling crimson was all his memoires dredged up when he searched for some sort of clarity of the matter, for some sort of solace that his hands were not always that horrid color.

"Roe!"

If it was not the staining lifeblood that worried him about his hands it was the fact that, despite his attempts, he could barely feel his limbs let alone his appendages. Any day now he would bet Gordon a cup of Joe that his red, cold nose would just break off his face like an icicle. Frail, frozen and discoloured as it was.

Absent mindedly he began to pick at the dried blood, attempting to peel it and the thoughts away. Abruptly his view was obscured, the near frantic movement to cleanse his hands halted as a pair of gloved hands covered them paternally. Gene jolted back, up and out of his fox-hole and to his feet. His mind running on autopilot as it screamed at him, belittling him for letting such weakness show in front of anybody let alone a higher ranking man that had the potential to get the ball rolling and have him pulled back out of the fighting and away from the men.

Stopping alongside a fragmented tree when there were no fox-holes within sight or sounds of pursuit, he collapsed onto his knees. Sitting there in the silence, his thoughts started up once more only this time pounding in his mind harder than the jarring shift of momentum when the parachute opened on his rushed escape from the under-fire airplane on D-Day. Images accompanied the thoughts. They spun in circles faster than the bullets that sped past him as he rushed to the wounded lying in the open after the initial ambush but before the ones scrambling for cover in the hedgerows forcibly dragged him behind the thin leafy wall of defense. And then imminent nightmares slowly paraded through, flaunting their likely potential like the grateful Dutch people the night before they were overrun while we listened and looked on from the distance helplessly – powerless to do anything to stop the advancing destructive force.

The ground moving due to the explosive power of the incoming and connecting German artillery had the thoughts, images and likely future scurrying away until another moment of weakness was to arise as the drilled-in training kicked in.

Moments later Eugene Roe was there once more, trying to survive the living nightmare and help those that cried out his call sign.

MEDIC!

**A little bit longer than the last. As always with the it is always awesome to have reviews and suggestions (like if my sleep deprived mind missed any spelling errors). Thanks, once again, for reading.**

CimsonStainedAsh


End file.
